The Case of the Waterlogged Violinist
by mindpalace hell charlottesweb
Summary: When Irene Adler's brother is killed in a mysterious accident she calls on Sherlock to solve the case. The year is 2032, Rosie has gone off to boarding school and John is convinced he and Sherlock's sleuthing days are over after Sherlock's ankle is injured while attempting to catch a criminal through the dark streets of London. Sherlock is not convinced and will go to any lengths t
1. Chapter 1

I watched Rosie pack her bags. Her precise movements just like her father's. Her grace when she folded her socks just like her mother. _Mary and John separated by death, my fault._

She looked at me and smiled. "Don't be sad, Uncle Sherlock. I'll be home for the holidays."

I sniffed. "What makes you think I'll miss you? You should have left ten years ago."

She giggled. "I would have been five years old."

I felt a smile tugging at the corner of my lips. "I see you've finally learned to do simple sums in your head." A creak on the stair alerted me to someone's presence—John. "Congratulations Rosie, you've surpassed your father's rudimentary skills in mathematics."

John popped his head around the corner and said, "Well, at least I know the earth goes around the sun."

Our eyes met. My smirk morphed into a grin, then faded. We three had our rhythm and I would miss it. Rosie chatted on and on. I held John's gaze, then looked down at Rosie, rolling my eyes. "Stop nattering on and on. You're driving me insane. In fact, you're lowering the I.Q. of …"

"…the whole street." Rosie echoed. She then walked over and wrapped her arms around my waist. I hugged her back, resting my chin upon her head. After a few moments, I backed away. "I'll let you finish packing."

"Okay, aren't you going to the station with us?"

"Nope, sounds boring."

Rosie patted my arm. "It's alright. I understand, Uncle Sherlock."

I left the room, then paused. The stairs presented a formidable challenge these days. I turned, finding John on my heels. "What do you want?" I snapped.

He reached out to steady my arm. "Do you need help?"

"Oh, for god's sake, just because Rosie is leaving the nest, doesn't mean you have to mother me. I just broke my ankle. I'm not an invalid."

"Fine and just because Rosie is going away to boarding school doesn't mean she's leaving the nest and in case you've forgotten your ankle is being held together with smart implants. You're lucky you can still walk after that stunt you pulled on our last case. Let's face it Sherlock, we're middle aged. It's time to slow down."

I quirked an eyebrow, grabbed the hand rail, then looked back at him. "John, unless you plan on living to be 110, you're past middle-age."

"Leave it to you to point out the obvious. I guess it's all downhill from now on."

"I have no intention of slowing down. Slowing down is boring." _Slowing down is death._ I attempted to ignore the whispers in my mind. _You're alone so alone. Sherlock is boring. Sherlock is dying. You're quite through. First goes the body, then the mind. People die. That's what people DO. _"Stop it, "I shouted.

John looked at me in alarm. "Sherlock are you okay?"

I opened my mouth to tell him to sod off, then noticed Rosie at the top of the stairs. Her smile stilled the voices within me. John held out his hand to her. "Are you too big to let me take your hand?"

"Of course not, Dad."

I took the stairs one at a time, knowing Rosie and John could overtake me if they chose. Hearing them stagger their steps made me impatient with my slow attempts to keep ahead. _They're accommodating me._ I lumbered into the sitting room, shutting the door behind me, ignoring the sounds that threatened to penetrate my solitude—Rosie's cheerful voice, John's soft replies, the creak of the wooden stairs, the shutting of the door, the clank of the door knocker, then silence. "Play the Lacrimosa from Mozart's Requiem." I ordered aloud. The strident tones filled the room. I wanted to walk over to the window. I wanted to wave good-bye to the two people I loved most in this world. Instead I counted, keeping track of the time and how long it would take a cab to get to Baker Street. Did I just hear the opening and closing of a door? Metal upon metal, locking mechanism snapping into place. My loved ones sealed in a black box. Should I see them off? A sharp, stabbing pain made the decision for me. I sat down in John's chair, sliding the palms of my hands to my forehead. _You're the sitting type. I can tell. _"Damn my ankle, damn aging, damn it all…"

A monotone voice echoed back at me. "I'm sorry, I don't know that song. Please recite more lyrics and I will search for it."

"Oh, shut it."

A few moments passed. "I'm sorry I …"

"For god's sake, just keep playing the Mozart." The morose music once again filled the room and I reveled in its darkness. I awaited the recapitulation with anticipation, scowling when a soft chiming sound interrupted. "What?" I shouted.

"You have two new notifications," a monotone voice answered.

"Display," I answered.

"First message. Your ankle implant is at 90% maximum usage. Please elevate ankle and let smart device recharge."

I sighed, draping my ankle over the over the arm of the chair. "Delete message and play next one."

"Second Message from Irene Adler."

I sat up, pulling my robe shut in case the message displayed in real time. A blue light on the small band that encircled my wrist indicated a pre-recorded message. I leaned back, letting my robe fly open once more. "Play message."

An image of Irene filled the room. Her luxurious dark hair fell around her white shoulders, her eyes shone and when she spoke her red lips moved in entrancing patterns. _Hypnotic. Well it's obvious her beauty hasn't diminished. She's like a fine work of art. A sculpture frozen in time, small wrinkles line her face, but they add to her alluring qualities. What caused her brow to furrow? _I blinked, making myself focus on her words. "Dear boy, how are you?" She paused, looked down at the ground, then continued on. "It's been ages. Have dinner with me, please. I need you." The message terminated.

I frowned. "Call Irene Adler." A few seconds later, her holo-projection appeared beside me. "What is it?" I asked.

She smiled but I noted the sadness that flited across her porcelain features. "I need you to come and have dinner with me."

"Are you still living in California?" Not waiting for her to answer I continued on. "Why would I hop on a jet and come over to that god-forsaken, hot place to have dinner with you? I hate American food."

"Sherlock, it's my brother…"

"Brother? I had no idea you had a brother. Why should I give a…"?

"Sherlock, he's dead. The police say it was an accident, but I know he was murdered. Have dinner with me please."

A tear slid down her cheek and I reached forward to wipe it away, knowing the moisture wouldn't touch my skin. "I'll be on the first jet I can find. Just let me leave John a message. See you soon." I terminated the call.

"Call John," I commanded. A few moments later, John appeared beside me.

"Sherlock what is it? Are you okay?"

Rosie's voice echoed in the background. "Uncle Sherlock, you miss me already?"

I smiled. "Yes, of course. Now let me speak to your Dad. John, I'll be out when you get home."

John frowned. "I don't like the sound of that. What do you mean by out?"

"Keep calm, John. I'm just having dinner with an old friend."

"What old friend? You don't have friends."

"Jealous? Now you know why I don't report my whereabouts to you. You're like an old nanny, worse than Mrs. Hudson and she's in her 90's. I'm disconnection now."

I jumped up, regretting my decision. My ankle device throbbed. _It's like being under house arrest when one has done nothing wrong. _I glared down at my ankle. "You're not slowing me down." I then made my way upstairs and began to pack.

_Packing. I hate packing. What to take? What not to take? I usually leave these decisions up to Rosie and John. I miss them. _I smiled remembering the last time I packed on my own, I'd ended up with a suitcase full of shoes. Rosie had squealed with laughter, while I tried to explain that I'd been doing research on how different soles of different shoes from the same individual left certain digital traces through an individual's mobile device by transmitting gait fluctuations through its fitness app. I'd actually solved a case by figuring out the standard deviation of said fluctuations_. Case…Sherlock, focus, pack your suitcase. _

After packing and re-packing, I finally convinced myself I had the proper accoutrements for a trip to California. Last but not least I grabbed my cane. I ran my hand over its smooth black carbon fiber surface, then smiled. I flicked a button and a sharp plastic blade shot out. _3-D printing is marvelous. I had created a lethal blade and a hiding place for my pills, encasing its secrets in lead, so as to avoid airport scans. Sometimes the old methods are the best. If anyone asks about the lead content in my cane, I'll just grimace and hobble, grumbling about my disability until the authorities have no choice but to let me go my way. My cane is a Chinese puzzle, a work of art. I am the master of disguise. Time for battle._


	2. Chapter 2

Plane ride to California—monotonous. I took a few pills to kill the pain and boredom. My stomach lurched when the jet's wheels hit the tarmac. A few moments passed, then I eased out of my seat, making my way towards the exit where the pilot stood. _It feels like the bloody plane is still moving. _I winked at him, then made my way to the door. "Lovely, flight," I said.

I gripped the handrail, swaying when the sun's rays assailed my eyes. "Jesus," I swore aloud, "where the hell are my sunglasses?" I grasped inside my pocket, wondering if I had forgotten them. The pilot held out his. "Here, sir, take mine."

My eyes watered and I wondered. _Does he feel sorry for me or is he flirting? The simple, social nuances that the average person understands are still a mystery to me. I could analyze him, from the musky scent that lingered on the arms of the glasses he handed me down to the cropped hair and no-nonsense suit that screamed MI-6. Oh, what the hell? I'm too tired. _I smiled, taking the sunglasses, then thanked him, hoping he wouldn't get into trouble when Mycroft found out I'd commandeered the plane without authorization. _I must be getting soft in my old age. In my younger years, I wouldn't have given a thought to the consequences that might befall him, but I'd lost too much. Loss or aging, now there's the rub. Both are one and the same, aren't they?_

A self-driven limo awaited me at the end of the ramp. I breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that I wouldn't have to put up with idle conversation. Once inside, Irene's virtual face appeared before me. "Dear boy, did you have a good flight?"

I reached up to remove sunglasses, then stopped. "His majesty provides the very best of travel accommodations."

She smiled. "Up to your old tricks?"

"Of course."

"See you soon, darling boy."

I nodded, relieved that I could be alone with my thoughts. Blue sky, ocean views, and other travelers whisked around me. I closed my eyes, letting the cool interior of the limo and its engine's soft hum lull me to sleep. A slight tilting of the vehicle woke me. I looked out the window, glancing down at the small ships that dotted the water's surface. A few more turns and the bridge I traveled on faded into the background. We stopped in front of an estate that reflected status and power. Its red roof and white columned pillars demanded approval.

I ordered the limo to drive me closer to the curb and ventured out. Irene stood there, wearing a thin beach cover up. I raised an eyebrow. "What? Am I not worthy of battle dress?"

She laughed, her expression sobering after she studied my face. "You look done in. Freshen up, then join me in the hot tub. Do you want to have a lie down first?"

I felt my face grow warm. "For god's sake I'm not a baby that needs his nappies changed. I feel fine, ready for action. However, I didn't pack a swimsuit."

"Hmm," she purred. "I won't be wearing one either."

I frowned. "Umm, Irene…"

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, relax dear boy. I'm still gay."

I ducked my head, then looked down, then up again. "And I'm still asexual, so we're good then?"

"Perfectly, dear boy. I'll have someone show you to your room, then come join me."

I unpacked, showered, then put on the black, silk robe that shimmered on a hanger. It fluttered in the breeze, like a bat, struggling to get free. I watched it bang against the square, glass planes of the balcony doors. Reaching my hand out, I stilled its motion, then wrapped it around me. Its smooth folds slid over my cooling skin. _Why am I so cold? _I rubbed the chill bumps down that dotted my arms, then re-traced my steps to the front of the house. The hum of a hot tub guided me outside.

I shivered when the sun's warmth reached me. I tilted my face upwards, glad of the sunglasses that shielded my eyes.

"Ready to join me?" Irene asked.

I smiled, allowing my robe fall to the ground, then slipped into the hot tub. Irene slid in behind me, massaging my shoulders. "Your shoulders are so tight."

I had to fight the impulse to drool, when her deft fingers plunged into a ball of nerves at the base of my neck. "Mmm, oh god that feels marvelous."

"You look positively orgasmic. An hour or two alone with the crop and I would have you on your knees, calling me mistress."

I smirked, enjoying the teasing. "There's no time. I'm working. Which reminds me, I have to call John."

She laughed. "I say orgasmic and you say 'call John.'"

I shifted away from her. "What's that supposed to mean? Never mind. It's your brother that's dead. You'd think you'd be more serious, instead of teasing me about my non-existent sexual relationship with John."

She studied me. "It's interesting that you would say, 'non-existent sexual relationship,' instead of platonic. With a vocabulary as big as yours…"

My muscles tensed. "Irene, the case?"

She snuggled next to me, then drew away, staring out at the ocean. "Lucien, was my baby brother. Well, my half-brother. He was twenty, a brilliant violinist with his whole life ahead of him."

I turned towards her. "Lucien, what a strange old-fashioned name. Whose idea was that?"

She lowered her head, rolling her eyes in my direction. "Sherlock, really you're one to talk."

"I concede. Go on with your story. Hang on a minute? Your brother was Lucien Adler, the violinist?"

"Sherlock, are you even listening to me? I've already told you that."

"It's just that he's fantastic. He's recorded all the Paganini Caprices and Bach Partitas; his performances are said to rival any musician today or in the past. What a waste. So many untalented, stupid people taking up air and some idiot had to pick off the best violinist on the planet, maybe even the universe." _'At least I know the earth goes around the sun.' John's words pounded their way into my sub-conscious. Even when he's not here, he is. _"Tell me everything, but first let's call my blogger."

I pressed my communication device. "Call John," I ordered.

Within a few seconds, John's flustered face appeared before me. "Sherlock, what the hell's going on?"

I smiled, reveling in his turmoil. "Whatever do you mean, John?"

"You know what I mean. You bloody idiot. Wait hang on, is it daytime where you're at?"

I suppressed a grin, avoiding Irene's glance, lest I burst into laughter. "Why John, your powers of observation astound me. You know the earth goes around the sun and that it's daytime. Bravo!"

John pursed his lips. He moved closer, causing his image to flicker with each agitated movement. "Where are you?!"

I leaned back, ordering my visual to a 360-landscape degree view. "I'm in California, in…" I turned to Irene. "Where in California are, we again?"

She sat up, moving closer to the camera's field. "Coronado Island."

I cocked my head to one side. "Coronado Island, John. Now, check your inbox. There should be two plane tickets. I need you to…"

John's mouth fell open. "Is Irene naked?"

I slid under the water, then popped back up, gasping. "Why yes John she is, and so am I by the way." My sunglasses sank beneath the water's surface. I smiled, then made a show of retrieving them.

Irene loved the game as much as I. She squeaked. "Sherlock, they're not there."

I grinned, looked out at the ocean, then back at John's image. "Oh John, are you still there? Why aren't you packing? I need you. Irene's brother has gone and got himself killed. We have a case."

John pursed his lips. "So, you and Irene are um…reconnecting as well?"

I sighed. "John, focus. I'm working, not reconnecting. Did you get the scan code for the two air tickets I sent you?"

"Hang on, I'm checking. Okay, I see them. Who is the other one for?"

I took a deep breath. "My violin, of course."

John studied the scans, then looked away. "So, the violin gets the aisle seat? And why can't I fly over in Mycroft's jet?"

"I can't abuse the privilege. Mycroft will be livid when he finds out I used it."

John sighed, "Well, at least you could've sent me first class, or waited until I got Rosie settled before you left."

"John, focus, please. You're of no use to me if your mental processes are floundering. Maybe I'm expecting too much. After all, you are past middle age. You're missing Rosie. Perhaps you're starting to wind down."

"Excuse me, if I'm human, you bloody machine. Except you're not, are you? You're just a fake, pretending to be aloof, when in fact you fly half-way around the world to get off with…"

I held up my hand. "Let me stop you there, John. I've told you time and again. Sex is not really my thing."

Irene scooted closer to me, moving forward into the visual frame. "Aw John, don't look so crestfallen. Sherlock claims to be asexual, but in your case, he may drift over into a gray area—demisexual."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "For the love of god, stop wasting my time with trivializations."

Irene looked at me. "Oh John, look, we've flustered the little detective." She looked down. "Well, maybe not so little." She then leaned over and kissed me full on the lips, pushing the end call button on my bracelet. Her shoulders shook with laughter.

I pulled away from her. "I think you went overboard. I need his head in the game. Quit mocking my blogger, that's my job. Now, tell me about Lucien."

"Can you tell I'm avoiding the topic?"

I drummed my fingers along the warm, concrete, stopping their movement to encircle the cooling water in the craters of each grouted section. _Warm to cold and back again, once the sun rises, the cycle repeats. I must keep focused. Don't let them distract you. _"Irene, give me details."

"I can't. Sherlock let's rest. When I speak of his death, it becomes real and my grief renews itself. Let him be alive one more night. I don't expect you to understand. You never let your emotions get the better of you. Do you, Sherlock?"

I closed my eyes. _Me listening. John shouting, '__For the record, if anyone out there still cares, I'm not actually gay.' A strange tune, a violin solo filled my head then, it still fills my head now and I don't know why. Shutting down, going to mind palace. _

I opened my eyes, finding myself alone in the tub. The sun had gone down. I shivered despite the warm bubbles that bounced off me. I got out of the tub, making my way towards a glowing firepit. I warmed myself by its flames, exhausted, yet not wanting to sleep. Dreams would plague me. Half I would dread. Half I would welcome, hoping that my sub-conscious could distinguish between nightmare and drug induced insight.


	3. Chapter 3

My dreams terrified me. I ran, seeking shelter and found none. The door to Baker Street beckoned to me—safety. My key wouldn't fit in the lock, so I knocked. Moriarty opened the door. "Tea?" He whined.

I took the cup, my hands shaking when John's eyeball popped to the surface. _He's dead. It's my fault. They're all gone._

"Sherlock, wake up."

My eyes flew open. Irene sat on the edge of the bed, shaking my foot, being careful to stay out of kicking range. "Sherlock?" She asked again.

I sat up, disgusted when I looked down at my sweat soaked robe and sheets. "I'm sorry, you must excuse me. It appears I've had a nightmare." The room spun in circles when I attempted to stand up.

Irene took my arm, leading me back to the moist linens, where I sat down with a thud. She smoothed back my damp curls. "It appears you've had more than one."

I brushed her hand away. "I want to hear about the case, but first I need a bath."

"I've already run you one."

I grinned, allowing her to help me. We made our way across the room. I grimaced in pain. "Let's hang a detour and grab my cane." I grabbed the cane, but still allowed her to slide her arm through mine. When we entered the bathroom, I looked around at the pink, pearlescent walls in surprise. "I expected meat hooks and chains."

She smiled. "That can be arranged, if you wish it."

I smirked. "Maybe later." She helped me take off my robe, letting me lean on her, while I attempted to balance on one leg. _My bloody leg feels as if it's made of lead. For Christ's sake it's just the side of a tub. _Beads of sweat popped up on my brow. I gritted my teeth, breathing a sigh of relief when my foot splashed into the water with a plop. I then slid into the tub, groaning with pleasure when the warm suds enveloped me.

Irene smiled. "Such a low, sexy groan, if you weren't what you are and I wasn't what I am, we could be naughty."

I reached out and grabbed her wrist. "We could still be naughty, just not in the conventional sense." I leaned forward, handing her a sponge. "Wash my back, please."

She took the sponge, rubbing it in smooth circles over my back. "You've got such a lovely, long, white back. I would love to see it marked with a few red welts." Chill bumps rose up on my arms and I let myself enjoy the circular motions. A warm mixture of soap and water flowed over my neck, rolling down my chin. Tears welled up in my eyes. I wasn't sure why. _I mustn't give into the fly in the ointment—emotion._ When I spoke, my voice cracked. "Irene, tell me about Lucien."

She stopped rubbing my back. "Okay, but first things first." She turned around, holding out a cup. "Tea?"

I shrank back, closing my eyes afraid to look. _Sherlock, STOP THIS! _

"Sherlock, are you alright?"

My hands shook, when I took the cup, splashing some of its brown contents into the water. I watched it spiral around me. The room remained silent, while I studied its patterns. "I'm fine. Now tell me about Lucien."

"Lucien lived for his music. The violin was all that mattered to him. We didn't spend a lot of time together, but when we did it was wonderful. We would laugh and I felt like a child again. As he got older, he began to visit more, which I should have discouraged, but I was selfish and wanted him near me. I suppose his innocence appealed to me. Does that surprise you?"

I looked at her, thinking of how Rosie's smile could shed light on my darkest day. "No, continue. Where did things start to go wrong?"

"It happened when he fell in with a client of mine—Simon. Lucien used to play at his costume parties. Simon fancies himself a business mogul. He throws lavish galas, set in different time periods. He particularly likes to imitate American parties from the 1920's."

I sighed. "Irene, I barely acknowledge British history. Give me details that pertain to the case and nothing more."

She took a sip of tea, then looked out into the distance. "The party was three weeks ago. Lucien had been excited because he would get to dress in a period costume and play period music. He was exacting, determined to make everything accurate to the time period. A few days before the party he seemed distracted—not himself."

I sat forward. "Now, we're getting somewhere. How was he different, drugs, alcohol, boyfriend, or girlfriend trouble, gambling debts? What?"

"That's just it, Lucien didn't date, do drugs or alcohol and he was responsible with his finances."

I steepled my fingers together in front of me. "I did some digging before I went to sleep last night. According to the news accounts he drowned when he fell over the side of a yacht. What about his health? Did he have any recent diagnosis that might have influenced him in any way?"

Irene's eyes narrowed. "He didn't kill himself."

I held her gaze. "I don't mean to be indelicate, but I've been in this sleuthing business a long time. People do unexpected things. They murder, steal, lie and sometimes they kill themselves. The human psyche can be resilient, until one day it isn't."

Irene stood up, then pulled a smart bracelet from a chain around her neck. "Here is his smart device. The police have analyzed it. Take it."

I reached out and took the smart device. "Wow, this is top of the line, it can video project underwater. Perhaps, I should have stuck to playing the violin full-time, instead of sleuthing."

She followed it with her eyes, then looked down. "He wouldn't do that— leaving me to grieve."

My jaw tightened. "No decent, unselfish person would." I fingered the device in my hand. "Irene, I don't mean to sound insensitive, but could I still have access to the body?"

Irene's eyebrows rose. "Since when have you worried about being insensitive? The body is going to be released tomorrow. I know the coroner, or I should say I know what she likes, so I think it can be arranged."

I drummed my fingers along the side of the tub. "I need John. Do you think you could get the coroner to give us a couple of days? Tell her you need to plan for a service or something."

Irene looked down. "I wasn't planning on having a service."

I glanced up at her. "No, plan a service."

"Why Sherlock, I never figured you for a traditionalist."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm not. I just want to see who shows up. Now get out. I want to listen to the contents on the device. Is it pass locked?"

Irene stood up. "His pin is violinmaster/servant."

"Well, that's not a complicated password. Although maybe he was more like you than we anticipated."

I pushed in the pass code, muting the video and began to listen. Most of it was mundane daily routine activities—rehearsal scheduling, concert dates, travel arrangement and the like. I pushed the skip button, until I came across a reference to Simon. I unmuted the video and Lucien's cheerful face appeared before me. "Hey Sis, I can't thank you enough for the recommendation. Who would have thought I'd get a gig from one of my big sister's clients? I saw you at the masquerade party, looking marvelous as always. Your black lace dress and mask were stunning. Simon let me choose all the music. He said it didn't matter, as long as it was 18th Century. I picked my favorite composer—Mozart. I think he would've appreciated his music being played at such a decadent party. Who would have thought, I'd make out so well from you beating some guy's ass to a pulp? Keep up the good work sis, love you. We'll talk more tomorrow."

I smiled. _Clever sense of humor. Somehow, I thought he'd be a boring, prig, and who could go wrong with Mozart? _I listened while he rambled on about the musicians he would be contracting. I made note of the names, then advanced the time frame to a few days before the yacht party. Lucien's face once again appeared before me. "Sis, hope you can make it tonight. We get to play 1920's music. There's something I have to run by you. It's nothing earth shattering, so if you're too busy, it can wait. See you soon, love you."

I looked down at the digital time stamp of Lucien's last entry, hesitating before I pushed the play arrow. The video showed the boat and not Lucien himself. "Beautiful, isn't it? Simon had the yacht completely restored last year. I love the sound of the water lapping against the wooden hull. It has a vibrant rich quality that's missing in carbon fiber boats these days, or yachts, modern ships—whatever. I've played enough cruise ships to know the difference. Anyway, there's Tiffany lamps in the dinning room, or whatever it's called on a yacht and…Whoops, I have to get back—break's over." The entry stopped. The next video gave me the chills. It showed a view of black water, from atop the yacht's railing, then splash. I heard the churning of water, saw bubbles, then nothing. _Why didn't he scream? _ _Could he have been dead before he hit the water?_ I held up the device. _What are you hiding?_

I closed my eyes, reviewing what I knew about the case. A knock on the door interrupted my introspection. Irene came in with John on her heels. I smiled. "John, how good of you to finally show. Help me out of the tub and I'll bring you up to speed." I took the hand he offered, fighting to keep my balance, sliding against him while I struggled to lift my leg over the side. I straigntened up when my feet hit the floor, shaking like a dog to rid my self of the excess water that dampened my hair and skin.

John took a step back. "Jesus, Sherlock, watch it."

I rolled my eyes. "Steady on, John, you've gotten wet before."

Irene raised an eyebrow. "Indeed."

John huffed. "I didn't fly several hours on a jet, in coach, to be teased by you two. Sherlock, get some clothes on."

I shrugged, not inclined to acquiesce to his request. "Clothes are boring."

John handed me my robe. "Well, not for some of us. Here put this on."

I snatched the robe from his grasp. "Fine, if it'll stop your incessant whining, I'll do it." My eyes narrowed, taking in his appearance. I ran my index finger across a damp place on his t-shirt. "An 'I love California' t-shirt? Really John, this isn't your style at all."

John's cheeks flushed. "Well, I…"

I held up my hand. "No wait, let me guess. Against my advice, you caved and ate the airplane snack. No doubt, something with artificial cheese, then you had a scotch. Throw in a bit of turbulence, along with the mucus from your overtaxed sinus' that cause you to snore. Combine the sinus drainage with all the other stupid things you consumed and there's only one result—vomit and lots of it. Unable to stand the smell of yourself, you went to the nearest airport shop where you proceeded to buy that hideous shirt. Am I correct?"

John smiled, looking away, and shaking his head. "More or less, I'll change the shirt."

I looked at him in confusion. "Did I ask you to change the shirt?"

"No but…"

I held up my hand again. "John, please no incorrect assumptions." I then studied him in detail. "Actually, I like the shirt, it becomes you, makes you look younger. Keep it on."

John took a step closer to me. "You can sod off. I'm changing the shirt. It's wet, remember?"

"John, you have an annoying way of overstating the obvious. Change, don't change, it's up to you. Whatever you decide hurry it up, we've got work to do."


	4. Chapter 4

The limo made its way across the Coronado bridge. I felt lost, out of touch—not in my element. The sun had burnt away the morning fog and I shrank from its rays.

John smiled at me. "It's really quite nice here, isn't it? Do you mind if I roll down the window a bit?"

I took a deep breath. "Whatever, pleases you, John. It makes no difference to me." I opened my mouth, then shut it. John had his head out the window. His shock of white hair blowing in the breeze. _Well, I was going to say something to piss on his good mood, but he looks so…adorable?_

"Adorable."

John looked at me. "Did you just call me adorable?"

I felt my face heat up. "No, why would I say that?"

John shrugged. "I just heard you say, 'adorable.'"

"I was thinking. I say adorable and you automatically assume I'm talking about you. I think it's time you examine your ego issues."

John sat back, widening his eyes. "Seriously, you're talking to me about ego issues? You're the most egotistical, prideful person I know."

I sniffed. "You exaggerate."

"Oh no, don't pull the dramatic pout on me. Who attempted to jump over a wall on our last case, ending up with a shattered ankle? You almost took a poison pill from a crazed cabbie, when we first met. You've taunted every psychopath we've ever run across."

My thoughts drifted from one scenario to another, until they ended where they always did—water. I scratched the sides of my face. Mary dead, blood everywhere. "Norbury, my fault Norbury."

John grabbed my wrist. "Sherlock, stop. You know I don't blame you, don't you?"

"How could you not? I still do," I whispered.

His fingers encircled my wrist, guiding it down until it rested in my lap. "Sherlock, I wish you would tell me what this is really all about."

I glanced at my hands. _If I knew, I would tell you. _"Let's stop talking, it complicates things."

John reached out, patting my shoulder.

"John, stop touching me."

"Sorry, your Highness, I'll ask next time."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Better not, the driver might misconstrue the situation and we all know how you value your heterosexual label."

"You act like it's a bad thing—being heterosexual."

"Did I say it's a bad thing. Quit putting words in my mouth."

"I'm not going to put words or anything else in your mouth."

I smirked. "John, now the driver will talk."

John leaned back. "Oh god, you're right. Let's stop talking."

My shoulders began to shake and I hid my face in the corner of the seat.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, are you laughing?" He moved around to look at my face. "You are—laughing. You're such an immature prick."

"John you're so easy."

"Oh yeah?" John looked around until he found the mini bar. He rummaged around, grabbing a bottle of soda water.

I watched him shake it up. "You'd better be getting ready to have a scotch and soda."

He smiled. "And if I'm not?"

I scooted away from him. "John, you wouldn't dare."

He grinned, then released the nozzle. I closed my eyes, reaching through the sprays of water in an effort to wrench the bottle from him. We both hit the back seat. The driver's voice over a speaker, stopped our wrestling match. "Excuse me sirs, is everything alright?"

I crawled back to my seat. "Yes, fine."

John slid back into his, looking straight ahead. We both remained silent, until the limo eased its black, nose down a circular driveway.

While morgues might repulse others, they fascinate me. It's where the body tells a story. After bone and sinew are dissected, body chemistry analyzed, the truth comes out—murder, suicide, accident or death by natural causes. After a few moments of waiting we were led down a long, shinning hallway to a bright room. John shivered from the cold. I shivered from excitement. _Like a complex math problem, waiting to be solved, my next case awaits me on a cold, hard slab. I ignore the dull, lifeless blonde hair that blankets his skull, taking his left hand in mine, I feel the calluses on the ends of his fingers. Even through a latex glove, I can distinguish the difference between callus and bone—the circular hardness the remaining evidence of his life's work._

I analyze the data, asking John a few questions along the way. After reviewing the toxicology report, I sigh. "Do you have a vidlink of the autopsy?"

The coroner stepped forward. "Yes, but that information is…"

I gave her the look, the look which stated, 'I've got you where I want you,' look.

She met my stare, then nodded. "Well, if Mistress…I mean Ms. Adler has given her permission, then I suppose it's alright."

I gave her my email code, then awaited the link. Once it arrived, I checked to make sure the file wasn't corrupted, then smiled. "Okay, thank you. Good-bye." I then turned to leave.

John hurried after me. He caught up quicker than I anticipated. I missed the days when his short, legs couldn't match my long strides. _I suppose time has a way of balancing things out._

"Don't you think, you were a bit rude?" John asked.

I looked at him with a blank expression. "I said, 'thank you.'"

"You just rushed off. I bet you don't even remember her name."

I shrugged. "What difference does it make? She served her purpose. Plus, I'm sure she's used to rough treatment, probably enjoys it."

John looked off into the distance. "Still, she was pretty, in a gothic, serial killer way."

I took a deep breath. "John, other than Mary, you have the worst taste in women. Oh, and by the way, you'd be wasting your time."

John scowled. "Too young for me? I'm not her type. I'm not sexy enough?"

I patted him on the head. "You're plenty sexy. Her interests lie elsewhere."

John's eyes widened. "You always know, how? When you are what you are?"

"What I am or not, has nothing to do with the fact that I have a brain and know how to use it. You may be sexy, but your observational skills are sadly lacking."

"It always goes back to that."

"What?"

"Your massive intellect."

"I'll pit my massive intellect against anything you've got to offer anytime." I smirked. _This is getting entertaining._

We made our way to the car, where the driver stood. His expression passive, while John and I bickered. I held up my hand. "Enough, with the flirting, John. If this keeps up, you'll have to arrange alternate transportation. I need to think."

John bit on his lower lip, then turned away from me. "Flirting, you think I'm flirting? I've no interest in…"

I circled around to face him, putting a finger against his mouth. "Enough John, one more word and I will leave you here." I should have pulled my hand away, but I didn.t. _You're still touching him. Pull your hand away now, Sherlock. _I concentrated on the sound of the ocean waves. They crashed against the shore, repeating the process over and over. I cleared my throat, stepped back, then got into the car. John followed me. We each sat in our respective seats, looking out our windows in silence.

When the limo came to a stop, I should have waited. I didn't. I forged ahead, giving no heed to my substandard ankle. A warning buzz vibrated up my leg. _Shut up. I've got to get up to my room before I'm distracted. _The illogic act of talking back to a smart device, evaded me until it failed. _Bloody hell, I left my cane in the car. _I looked back to see John handing it to me. I reached out, too late. I hit the driveway with a thud. John appeared by my side in an instant. "Sherlock, stop thrashing. Hold still."

"I'm not…Jesus…make it stop."

I heard John's voice. "Pull up updates for Sherlock's ankle medic app."

A monotone voice answered. "There are 5 updated available. Would you like me to download them?"

"Shit," John swore. "Yes, download now." He then turned to the driver. "Get me a couple of blankets."

A few moments later, I felt warmth from the blanket. John rolled up its black twin, placing it under my neck. "Don't move, until the updates are uploaded."

I didn't answer.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, okay," I hissed. "Might as well get it over with." I stared at him.

"What?" John asked.

"You're using your bedside manner voice. You must be worried. I guess this means I won't be getting a verbal take down later?"

He took my pulse, pursing his lips. "Shut up and yes I will be giving you a verbal beat down as soon as you're out of pain. How many times, Sherlock? How many times do I need to tell you to keep up on your software updates?"

My vision blurred. "I guess this means the berating is happening now, then?"

John sighed. "Sherlock, what am I going to do with you?"

I gave him a big smile, squeezing my eyes shut. "Keep me?"

John slid down beside me. His back rested against the limo. I watched his descent, disturbed by the worry lines that furrowed his brow. Worry lines that I'd put there. "I'm sorry, John."

He patted my arm. "It's alright. Just sit quietly, okay?"

A few moments later, and a voice intoned. "Updates complete."

John scrambled up first. How I envied his ability to scramble. He held out his hand. "Sherlock, take my hand."

I did as he ordered, using the other hand to grab my cane. Ignoring the spots that appeared before my eyes, I took a tentative step forward.

"Can I help?" The driver asked.

"I glared at him. Certainly not. My Doctor will attend to me."

John chuckled, shaking his head. "Sherlock, who talks like that? 'My Doctor will attend to me.' You should like some bloody period piece on the telly."

"John, just because I endeavor to use the Queen's English…"

John held up his finger. "We have a King now, remember?"

I rolled my eyes. "Fine, whatever. This conversation is a waste of time."

Once we were back in my room, I allowed John to help me to bed before I ordered him out of the room. I pulled up the vidlink of the autopsy, watching each procedure with clinical precision. _Everything checks out. He drowned. Irene isn't going to like this. How am I going to tell her that her brother's death appears to be an unfortunate accident? Well, there's only one thing to be done. I have to break into Simon's inner circle. _

"John, John!?" I shouted at my device.

John's holo image appeared. "I'm coming, Sherlock. Hang on, almost there."

The door burst open. "What is it Sherlock? Are you okay?"

"John, we need tuxes and party clothes. Procure them as soon as possible."

John put his hands on his hips. "You, insufferable ass. I thought you were in trouble."

"John, your concern is flattering, but unwarranted. Just get what we need as soon as possible. We're going to infiltrate Coronado Island's jet set and I want to look nice. Well, don't just stand there. Get moving."

"How am I supposed 'procure' said items?"

I shrugged. "How should I know? You live in the real world, figure it out."

He gave me the finger, slamming the door on his way out.

I smirked. _I've got the Doctor at my beck and call. He thinks I'm in trouble and he comes running. Am I in trouble? _I glanced at my cane. Its black sheen glimmered in the moonlight. I grabbed it, giving into the lure of its contents—the pills—my 7% solution.


	5. Chapter 5

I looked at John, attempting not to laugh when he unraveled the bowtie around his neck, tossing it to the ground. "I'll never get the hang of these bloody things."

I stepped towards him. "Would you like me to assist?"

He glared at me, picking up the tie. "Yes, nurse, please."

I smirked, pausing before I stepped into his personal space. "Okay, let's get this done, shall we?" He held still, allowing my deft fingers to uncoil the knots in the tie's silken folds. I leaned against him, reaching my hands around to complete the task.

"Your leg still bothering you?" John asked.

I nodded. "Now hold still and stop talking." I took a deep breath, inhaling his familiar scent of soap and aftershave. A few adjustments later, and the tie's silken folds fanned out in stiff points. I placed my hands on his shoulders, looking at our reflection in the mirror. John stared back at me.

"Well, "Irene purred. "Isn't that lovely?"

John shoved away from me, my hands fell to my sides, causing me to stumble. I righted myself, ignoring John's offer of help.

Irene pursed her lips, watching us with an amused glint in her eye, then she held out a leather collar. "Which one of you is going to wear this?"

John held up his hands. "Get that thing away from me."

Irene pouted. "Doctor Watson, I thought soldiers liked discipline."

John batted the collar towards Irene. "Not that kind."

Irene then approached me. "Sherlock?"

I ignored her.

She wiggled it in front of me. "Come on Sherlock, it's not like you haven't worn it before."

My face flushed. "I'm going to be playing my violin tonight and I can't perform with that thing around my neck."

Irene laughed. "Who says you're going to be performing tonight?"

I sniffed. "How else am I going to fit in?"

Irene placed a red, manicured nail beneath my chin. "You need to wait until you're asked."

I met her gaze. "What if I'm never—asked."

She raked her nails, in a gentle path down my neck. "Oh, don't worry, you will be—asked. I'll see to it."

Chill bumps rose up on my arms. I stood still, enjoying the sensation of being touched.

John cleared his throat. "Are we ready to go?"

I opened my eyes, focusing on John beneath hooded lids.

Irene chuckled. "I do believe the Doctor's jealous."

John twisted his head, attempting to loosen the collar of his shirt with two fingers. "I am not—jealous."

Irene bit on her lower lip. "We've had this conversation before, Doctor."

John began to pace in short aggravated steps. "And I set you straight. Do I have to say it again? For the record if anyone out there is listening, I'm not, nor have I ever been—gay. I like women"

I stepped forward. "Yes, I was listening then. I heard you loud and clear, John." An awkward silence ensued, making me long for rapid gunfire or an explosion. _Why aren't they saying anything? I hate this kind of tension. It's a waste of time. Fine, I'll use the Holmes strategy—ignore it, walk away and—leave. _I left the room without a word. A sense of freedom enveloped me, when I opened the front door. I noted the tendrils of fog that spiraled around the roof, and smiled. _The house would soon be enveloped in their white, moist coils. _

The limo pulled up in front of the Hotel del Coronado, The Del, to locals. A smile twisted at the corners of my lips, when I surveyed its majestic red domed roofs and white columns. I inclined my head in deference to the long porch, wooden steps, and bubbled glass windows—remnants of a bygone era. Closing my eyes, I allowed my thoughts to drift into the past, a simpler time, perhaps? A time when lustful thoughts remained hidden behind a façade of garden parties, tweed suits and long linen dresses.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, have you been listening to me?" John asked.

I focused on him, almost confused by his modern cut tuxedo. "What is it?" I snapped.

John waved me off. "I was commenting on the beauty of this place, but things like that are lost on you, aren't they?"

I arched an eyebrow. "John, it's just an old building. Its aesthetics are hardly inspiring, destination hotel, blah, blah, blah. I wouldn't know where to look."

Irene came alongside me, and whispered into my ear. "I think you know exactly where to look. Too bad your heart, mind and perceptions will not align."

I glared at her. "You mean, 'are not aligned'?"

"No, I meant will not." A sadness filled her eyes. I turned away, not wanting to be consumed by it. _Emotion—the fly in the ointment._

When we arrived at the hotel, I wanted to hold out a hand to her, then John, escorting them into the party like trophies. A shot of pain reverberated through my ankle. I sighed, opting to rely on my cane. The party was in the Crown Room. I marveled at the Crown shaped chandeliers and the rounded wooden ceiling._ This place is a wonderful work of art._

John grinned at me. "Still not impressed?"

I grinned back. "Okay, a little."

John licked his lips, an endearing nervous habit. "Did you know that Frank Baum designed the chandeliers?"

"Wizard of Oz Baum?" I asked, while looking up.

"Very good, Sherlock. I'm impressed that you would acquaint yourself with such a trivial fact."

I looked back at him. "Well, they are quite lovely. I do appreciate art, you know. Too bad life isn't as simple as asking for a brain and getting one."

He looked back at me. "Too bad life isn't as simple as asking for a heart and getting one."

Irene took both of our arms. "If you both remember correctly, the Tin Man and the Scarecrow already had what they needed without asking. Now, come and meet Simon."

Once Irene pointed him out, I began to analyze him. _He's tall, almost my height, around forty to forty-five based on the greying pattern along his sideburns, and the faint lines of crow's feet around his eyes. At least I think so, it's so bloody dark in here. Ambience my ass, I need to see clearly. Maybe John's right. Maybe I do need glasses. Back to task, Sherlock. Okay, his stance is rigid, yet graceful, indicating his ability to inflict discipline, or to glide into a given situation with charm—a man of power, who knows how to get his way._

He turned when we approached. Irene introduced us. "Simon, this is Sherlock Holmes."

He looked at her first. "Irene, I'm so sorry about Lucien. We're all heartbroken. I haven't taken the yacht out since."

She met his gaze, her lips curving up in a smile. "Thank you, Simon. I can't tell you how much that means to me."

He ignored her cold expression, then focused his attention on me. "So, this is the great Sherlock Holmes, I've heard so much about. Have you come to investigate? Well, I can assure you that I had nothing to do with Lucien's death. My resources are at your disposal. All you need to do is ask and it's yours." He shook my hand, holding it longer than I expected.

John put his hand forward, dislodging Simon's fingers from my own. "Hello, my name is Doctor Watson."

Simon's eyes widened. "Of course, Sherlock's sidekick, John Watson—the blogger. It's nice to meet you as well."

John pursed his lips. "Doctor."

Simon squinted. "I beg your pardon?"

John stepped forward. "It's Doctor John Watson."

Simon laughed. "My apologies, Doctor. Feel free to assist Sherlock in his endeavors. I must see to my guests, enjoy the party." Irene followed after him, taking his arm while they made the rounds.

John glared after him. "What an insufferable, posh bastard."

I chuckled. "Yes, but a murderer? He doesn't seem the type."

"How can you tell? You just met him. I don't like him and he held your hand way too long."

I looked down at John, noting his tense shoulders. The tension made his neck seem separate from his body. "John, you need to relax. Get a drink."

John sighed. "Fine, whatever. I'll drink while you deduce."

My eyes followed his progress across the room, until he reached his destination—the bar. Once he had a drink in hand, he held it up, mouthing the word, "See!"

I nodded, then made my way around the room, catching snatches of conversation here and there. Their mundane topics, made me want to scream. I drifted through the crowd, feeling invisible. When I reached the panoramic windows, I breathed a sigh of relief. The incoming fog had begun to obscure the view. I watched in fascination, while it swallowed each tree and shrub.

"Looks like we're in the clouds, doesn't it?"

I turned, annoyed at the intrusion. My scowl did nothing to deter the speaker.

He held out his hand. "Hi, I'm Bill, a friend of Simon's. He said you might be interested in playing at one of his parties. I'm his entertainment coordinator."

I shook his hand, studying him. "Then you must have known Lucien."

He nodded. "Yes, he was a world class violinist. He'll be greatly missed. Tell me Mr. Holmes, do you really think he was murdered?"

I glanced out the window at the white blanket of fog. "I'm not sure, but I will get to the bottom of it. Tell me did Lucien have many friends?"

Bill shook his head. "He kept to himself."

"No boyfriends, girlfriends?"

"As far as I know, he didn't date, but he was really into an online role-playing game."

I turned around and faced him. "Oh really? What game was that?"

"Master and Servant."

"What's the nature of the game?" I asked.

"Well, I've never played, but from what I've heard it's pretty intense."

"Really, in what way? Sexual?"

Bill shrugged. "I think it can be sexual or not, but you'll have to go online and check it out. Simon's played before, maybe you should ask him. In the meantime, would you have time to prepare something by next weekend?"

I looked across the room to where John stood, laughing with a ginger haired woman, not bothering to disguise his admiring glances.

"Hello, Mr. Holmes?"

"What?" And please call me Sherlock." I snapped.

"Would you be able to get something together by next weekend? I could arrange rehearsal time with a local pianist. You know to play—violin?"

I frowned. "Yes, of course. What sort of music do you want?"

His body language relaxed. "Well, it's an 18th Century themed Masquerade Ball."

I looked at him, keeping my eyes on John. "Sounds good, we'll keep in touch." I exchanged contact information, then excused myself.

By the time, I reached John's side, he was exchanging his own contact information. The woman hung on his every word, flaunting her breasts and giggling. _Enough of this exhibition. Time to shut it down._

I laid a hand on his elbow. "Come on John, we've things to discuss."

"What things? "He asked through gritted teeth.

"Things." I repeated.

He sighed. "You're the one who told me to relax. Well that's what I'm trying to do—relax."

"Fine," I huffed. "I'll be out on the beach, thinking…with the head above my shoulders." I walked out of the room, wishing I could storm out. My steps that were once full of fury, now shuffled along in a dreadful dragging limp. Strains of a Chopin Nocturne reached my ears. I didn't pause to appreciate its ethereal tones. Instead I let the harsh sounds of the ocean waves drown it out. By the time I reached the beach, I felt exhausted. I plopped down in the sand, snatching clumps of it in my hands, holding the grains a moment, then letting them go. I looked back to ensure I hadn't been followed. Then I took out my vape pipe, allowing myself the indulgence of an herbal soother.

I opened my eyes, annoyed that I'd fallen asleep. Something wasn't right. I looked around me. Though I didn't observe anything sinister I grabbed my cane, keeping my finger on the button that would eject its blade. "Is anyone there?" I asked, my breath coming out in a wisp of fog. No answer. Looking down at my coat I noticed something shiny. _Hmm, a holo card. _I turned it over, pressing the raised bubble that would play its message.

"Play the game," a voice whispered. "Tag you're it. Come play with us." A weblink then appeared.

"Would you like to download this link?" My device asked.

"Yes," I answered.

"Are you sure this is from a trusted source?"

I sighed. "Just download it."

I waited, then my device chirped. "Download complete. Help keep the planet clean. Please recycle this holo card after use."

I shoved it into my pocket, then headed for the parking lot. Once I reached the limo, I signaled to the driver. "Please take me back to the house."

"I need to wait for Miss Adler."

"Fine," I slurred. "I'll take an autocab."

A few moments later, and a driverless autocab appeared before me. I completed the monetary transaction, gave it directions, then fell asleep, while it whirled through the fog.


	6. Chapter 6

_Good god, what is that dreadful pounding? _I rolled over, putting a pillow over my head. _Ah, peaceful silence. _I smiled, until the pounding started again. _Dear god, it's back._

"Sherlock, open this door Don't make me break it down." John shouted.

_His voice has a kind of nasal, muted quality. It's kind of charming. Should I ignore him? Maybe I should let him break down the door. No, he's too old, he might break something. _"John, for the love of god, stop! Come in."

"It's locked, you nit."

I sighed. "Then find a key."

"Sherlock, get up off your lazy ass and open this door at once."

_He's just going to keep shouting, better do as he says. _I pulled my sleep mask up, trounced over to the door and opened it.

John pushed his way in, wrinkling his nose. "Jesus, it stinks in here. I can see or rather smell that you were productive last night."

I sniffed. "I don't smell anything, must be one of my different varieties of tobacco. What can I do for you?"

"Where were you last night?"

I shrugged. "I went for a walk, and why are you so out of sorts? I thought you were busy last night, procuring…relief."

"Well, I wasn't relaxed enough to procure said relief."

I arched an eyebrow. "Hmm, these things tend to creep up on one. Better get it checked out, get a blue pill, bend over, cough, whatever you need to do. Your health should come first."

John sat on the edge of the bed, covering his face with both hands. "Sherlock, you had me worried. The limo driver said you just took off. Where were you?"

"I told you, I went for a walk, then fell asleep on the beach. When I woke up, someone had placed a holo card on my chest. It invited me to play an online game called, The Master and the Servant. Apparently, Lucien was addicted to it." I handed John my laptop, watching him while he scrolled through the website. A thin sliver of daylight illuminated his face, revealing the bags under his eyes. He looked tired. I frowned. _Was the game taking its toll? _"John, why don't we go to your room? I'm sure it's not messy."

He looked over at me, then sniffed. "You're not coming near my room until you shower."

I folded my arms across my chest. "You know I don't like showers. I'll take a bath."

He rolled his eyes. "I suppose you want me to draw it for you?"

I smiled. "Yes, please, that would be lovely."

"Fine, but don't linger."

I could hear the squeak from the turning knobs, then running water. John muttered to himself. I smiled, taking comfort in his low grumblings. A few moments later he came back into the room. "Did you have trouble with the knobs?" I asked. Not waiting for an answer, I continued. "You know you should have activated voice command and let the house's smart device fill the tub."

John folded his arms across his chest. "Well, you could've reminded me."

I began to disrobe, leaving a trail of clothes on the way to the bathroom. "Now, where would be the fun in that?"

"Asshole," John whispered.

I grabbed the doorframe, balancing myself I slipped off my pants, throwing them in his direction. I chuckled when he jumped back.

"Nice," he said. "You're lucky those didn't hit me."

I smirked. "Since you didn't get lucky last night, I thought you might be grateful."

"You utter…"

I shut the door, laughing, then faced the tub. _Now to surmount the challenge of getting in. _I placed both palms flat against the wall, then grabbed the towel rack with one hand, hanging on until I gained enough traction to ease into the water.

"Oh god, that feels good." I murmured. Still feeling a bit impish, I moaned aloud. "Oh god yes, yes, yes, feels so good." The sound of something hitting the door stopped me. I leaned back and smiled.

I opened my eyes, hearing a knock on the door. _How long had I been in here? I must've dosed off again._

"How much longer, are you going to soak in your own filth?" John's muffled voice asked.

"Almost done," I answered, then grabbed onto the soap dish handle to pull myself up. Splash, I slipped back into the tepid water.

John opened the door. He looked around at the wet floor. When he noted my dejected expression, his facial features softened. He snatched a towel out of the warmer, held it up like a flag, then wrapped it around my waist. "Put your arms around my neck," he ordered. I did so, then he lifted me out of the tub. "Ease your feet down, then put your hands on my shoulders."

I followed his instructions, giving him a half-smile when my balance returned. "Thank you, John. I guess I'd better take my hands off your shoulders."

John returned my smile. "Yes, I think that's best. People will talk, you know. I laid out some clean clothes on your bed."

I sat on the edge of the bed, then looked over at him. "Thank you, John." I unwrapped the wet towel from around my waist, then struggled into my pants. _Socks, how the bloody hell am I going to get those on?_

Sensing my dilemma, John stepped forward. "Do you want me to help you?"

I shook my head. "No, that's alright." I bent down. One sock on, now for the other. _Damn, I can't lift my foot up and unless I can bend in half like a contortionist, I'm never going to get this sock on._

John knelt in front of me. "Come on, give me your foot." He slipped the sock on me, then leaned back on his haunches. "Your feet are ice cold. They should be warm after a bath. I'm going to get my stethoscope. He inspected my arms, frowning. Sherlock, look me in the eye and tell me you're not using."

I jerked my arms out of his grasp. "Do you see any marks?"

John shook his head.

"Then on my word as a gentleman, I'm clean."

John laughed. "Ooh, that's not good enough, not by a long shot."

When a gentle tap on the door sounded, I breathed a sigh of relief. _Thank god. _"Come in," I sang.

John glared up at me. "No, not yet, let me get off the floor first."

The door opened, admitting Irene. "Well, what have we here?" She asked in a sly tone.

I winked at John before I replied. "John and I were just discussing whether my attributes as a gentleman are valid."

Irene laughed. "Well, if John's going to be on his knees, you could at least provide him with a pillow."

"Done," I said, then leaned back to get one.

John looked away. "Oh, for Christ's sake, Sherlock, get some trousers on."

Irene stroked the top of John's head. "Go ahead, Doctor, I know you want to look. I can tell you what he likes. Our Sherlock, may not be conventional but he does enjoy his playtime."

John scrambled to his feet. "I've had just about enough of this. You should both be ashamed." He turned to Irene. "Your brother's dead for god's sake and Sherlock aren't we supposed to be working a case? You two can play kinky after I'm out of the room."

I wriggled into my trousers, then held up the purple t-shirt John had brought me. "A purple Hotel Del Coronado shirt? Why thank you, John. And by the way, I've no desire to play kinky with Irene…or anyone else."

John's face flushed. "It was supposed to be a joke, just a stupid joke," his voice trailed off.

I slipped the shirt over my head. "It's a little tight, but no matter, I love it. Now Irene, have you planned a service for Lucien?"

She sat down on the edge of the bed. "Sherlock, I can't, you understand, don't you?"

I opened my mouth to answer, then shut it when John interrupted. "Sherlock doesn't understand grief."

I pulled at a loose string around the edge of my t-shirt, wondering what would happen if I pulled it. Would the string snap off in a clean break, or would it linger, puckering the material before it separated from the hem? "Let's get back to the case." I announced in a loud voice. After giving Irene a brief description of the previous night's events, I turned to John. "John, could you please hand me my laptop?"

John looked at me, then rolled his eyes. "It's just on the other side of…Oh hell, never mind, I'll fetch it, shall I?"

John grabbed the laptop, then shoved it into my hands. "Here."

I took it from him. "Thank you, John." I opened it, and gave a voice command for a panoramic 3D view. "Pull up the website for the game, The Master, The Servant."

A female avatar appeared before us, giving me a seductive smile. "Welcome, do you dare to play?" She hissed.

"Yes," I answered.

"Very well, please read the legal and privacy acknowledgements, then give your consent."

"I, Sherlock Holmes, consent."

John pulled at my arm. "Hang on, you didn't even read it."

I shrugged. "Who cares? I thought you were my Doctor, not my lawyer."

John threw up his hands. "Fine, whatever."

"Sherlock Holmes, your identity will be kept secret. Would you like your gender revealed?"

"Yes."

"Would you prefer an erotic or non-erotic experience?"

I glared at John before I answered. "Non-erotic."

"This game can be played two ways, online or a hybrid online, onsite version. If you pick the hybrid version, you must be willing to let the computer access your current location. You may need to clear your cookies, and disable your virus protection."

"The hybrid version please."

A few seconds passed. "You are located at Coronado Island, California, U.S.A., correct?"

"Yes."

"And Sherlock, do you understand that you could be either the master or the servant? Are you willingly to perform either one of these roles?"

"Yes."

Cryptic organ music played and the avatar leaned closer "So, be it, Sherlock Holmes." Her hands moved over a crystal ball. Colors swirled around the room. The music stopped; her glowing green eyes sought mine. "Your fate has been decided, Sherlock Holmes, you are the servant. Your master will be in touch."

I leaned back against the headboard. "Bring it on, I'm ready."

The avatar winked at me, then disappeared.

I placed the laptop to my side, then grinned at Irene and John. "Well, the game is on."

John massaged his jaw. "I don't like it, Sherlock. What if this nut case asks you to slit your wrists or something?"

My brows furrowed together. "John, that would hardly be logical. It would terminate the session. And don't you think the authorities, even American ones, would notice if scores of people ended up dead or missing after playing the game? Really, John, it's as if I've taught you nothing. Plus, how could any harm befall me, with my Doctor and Dominatrax by my side?"

Irene smiled. "Well, we can't argue with that, can we Doctor?"

John smiled, but the expression in his eyes remained pained. "Would it do any good?"

I swallowed down the lump in my throat. "Remember John, Norbury, always remember."

Irene looked from one of us to the other. "Norbury, is that your safe word?"

Without losing eye contact with John, I answered, "Yes."


	7. Chapter 7

I paced back and forth; the rhythm of my feet became my obsession. After reaching the wall, I flicked the end of my robe behind me and began again.

"For god's sake, Sherlock, stop," John shouted.

I turned towards him. "Why hasn't my master contacted me?"

John sighed. "Perhaps, he's waiting for you to lose your mind."

I waved him off. "It's too late for that. Also, why do you assume my master is a man?"

John set his teacup down with a clatter. I watched some of the brown liquid slosh out of the cup. Its progress kept me entertained until it reached its destination—the floor. The sound of his voice startled me. "Oh, I don't know, maybe it's because women tend to be prompt and courteous and men don't"

I rolled my eyes. "John, you're babbling, basing your observations on personal experience rather than facts. It distresses me to witness your thought processes in such disarray. I'm going for a swim, care to join me?"

He looked at me. "Are you going to wear trunks?"

"No, no one cares if I take a dip in the nude."

"Well, I'm not going in the water with you unless you put on a pair of trunks or pants."

I walked to the sliding glass door, shrugging out of my robe. "John, you're a medical Doctor, who can name every bone in my body, why are you so hung up on nudity?"

John looked down then up again. "I'm not hung up on nudity."

My eyes narrowed. "Maybe it's just my nudity…that you're hung…up on."

"Oh, for god's sake I'm not hung up."

"Hmm, whatever you say, John." I put a finger to my lips, suppressing a chuckle.

I stepped outside, smiling when the sun's warmth hit my skin. I stretched, then dove into the water. Sounds became muffled. I drifted along the bottom of the pool, feeling the lumps and bumps in the cement with the ends of my fingers. I swam back and forth between the shallow and deep end, coming up for air when needed. _I wonder how long I can hold my breath. _I dove under, disappointed when I had to surface after 15 seconds. _Come on Sherlock, you can do better. _I took another deep breath, then plunged under the surface again. I cleared my mind, focusing on the underwater environment. Bubbles floated past me. I ignored the burning in my chest. _Just a few seconds more. _I swirled on my back, fascinated with the way the sunlight fanned out in cauliflower shaped clouds.

"Sherlock," a voice called.

I closed my eyes.

"Sherlock," the voice called again.

With a splash, my underwater world dispersed in a group of bubbles. _I can't breathe. _In an instant, the water became a place of terror and death. Strong arms pulled me to safety. When my head crested above the water, I gasped. I leaned into the embrace of my rescuer.

John helped me out of the pool. I shivered, while he took my pulse. He looked into my eyes and grimaced. Then he slapped me hard across the face. Tears sprang up in my eyes. I rubbed the place where he'd made contact.

He threw a towel in my direction, then got down on his knees, his face a few inches from my own. "You're heading down a path of self-destruction, Sherlock. You need to stop whatever you're doing and swear to me that…"

"A package for Sherlock," Irene sang out.

I wobbled to my feet. _Thank god, saved again._ I approached Irene, taking the long box from her hands. "Can you open it for me?" I asked.

Irene nodded. I watched in fascination when she slit the tape with a red fingernail. She lifted out a card and handed it to me. I read it aloud. "Your master is calling can you comply? Take the challenge and you'll see why. Follow my instructions to the letter and your mind and body will become unfettered."

I placed the matte black card back in the box, digging through packing material until I reached the contents. "Well, what have we here?"

"Just great, a sword." John muttered.

I turned to him. "Not just any sword, John. This is a katana and from the looks of it a nice one. My master is generous."

"His master is generous," John repeated while shaking his head.

I took the sword in one hand, experimenting with the weight of it. A piece of paper fluttered to the ground. I bent down and picked it up.

"What is it?" John asked.

I smiled back at him. "It's instructions to a kata."

"A what?"

"A kata, a series of choreographed steps in martial art training."

John stepped forward. "I was in the military. I know what a kata is."

"Then why did you ask?"

"I don't know." John sighed. "How are you going to manage it with that ankle?"

I frowned. "Why do you always look at the down side of things, John?" I stepped forward, thrusting the sword outwards in a gentle thrust.

John put a hand on my arm. "Because someone has to keep you grounded in reality."

I rolled my eyes. "Reality's boring."

He held my gaze. "Yes, Sherlock it can be and you can't avoid it forever. Sometimes we have to put our dreams away."

I angled the sword until sunlight glinted off of its surface. "Putting away one's dreams is death. Is that what you want for me?"

John let his hands drop to his sides. "I can't talk to you when you're like this. Just try not get yourself killed."

"When I'm like what?" I called out after his retreating figure.

He swiveled toward me, then began walking backwards. "When you're being manipulative and destructive. I 've told you before. I can't stand by and watch you disappear."

"Fine, who needs you," I shouted.

The sound of the pool's filter filled the air. I focused on its hum, jumping when Irene spoke. "You do, Sherlock. You need him more than ever."

_He's better off without me. When I disappeared before he found Mary maybe…_

I shook my head, then stood. "I've got a kata to learn, a master to please, a case to solve, and a game to play. There's no time for introspection. Good-night Irene, good-night, I'll see you…"

"In my dreams," Irene whispered back.

###

Over the next few days, I worked in a frenzied state, fluctuating between the kata and music for the upcoming party. Bill had contacted me, requesting that I play Mozart. I settled on Mozart's Sonata No. 21 in E minor, K. 304. Though the notes didn't propose a challenge, the subtle nuances did. My accompanist played well and I appreciated her musical assets. John noticed her physical ones.

After rehearsal one evening, I took pity on my Doctor and procured her contact information. I motioned John over. "John give me your arm."

He gave me a speculative glance. "Why?"

"I have something I think you'll want."

"Oh really, what's that?"

"The pianist's contact information."

"You can just give it to me."

I took his wrist between my long fingers. "I could but it's more fun this way." His pulse pounded against the pads of my digits. I made steady eye contact with him while I typed in her contact information.

When I'd finished, John jerked his arm away. "Next time dictate it orally."

I smirked. "Of course, I'll make a note, give it to John orally next time."

John looked irritated, then started to laugh. "Sherlock, what are you going to do if someone calls your bluff?"

I plucked at the strings of my violin. "Make sure that I play with individuals who have no interest in calling me out."

John's laughter faded. I tried to think of something witty. Something to encourage his good mood to return, but the moment had passed. I raised the violin, placed it under my chin and began to play. The haunting notes of Mozart's music filled the room. After a few bars, I started to improvise, finding joy in the blending of our compositions.

"Sherlock, Sherlock, do you know what time it is?"

I lifted my chin away from the violin's rest and blinked. "John?"

"Yes, me John, you Sherlock, it's 3 a.m. When are you going to give it a rest?"

I bowed my head. "Sorry, I thought you liked the violin. You did once, remember?"

John approached me, frowning when he noticed the developing bruise from where he'd hit me. "Sherlock, your playing is sublime. It transfixed me. It always has. It always will, always…"

I looked at him. "Of course. I've been inconsiderate. I'll stop playing at once."

John walked over to the fridge, and grabbed an ice pack. "Come here and put this on your cheek."

I complied. He held the pack to my face. "Irene's right, a person could cut themselves on those cheekbones. Get some rest, we'll talk in the morning."

I shook my leg, attempting to relieve the stiffness. Without a word, John brought me my cane. I nodded, giving him a half smile, then left.

Once inside my room, I made my way towards the balcony doors. I opened them, then sat down on the edge of the bed, listening to the ocean waves. I unscrewed the lid of the cane, shook out two pills, and popped them into my mouth. Closing my eyes, I filtered out the sounds of the night one by one.

I woke up with a start. My device buzzing, letting me know that I had a message. "Play messages," I ordered.

"You have one new message."

"Then play it," I snapped.

"Hello servant, this is your master. I hope you've been practicing. Come to the beach and perform for me. I'm sending the GPS coordinates to your device now. Be there within two hours. Looking forward to seeing you. Please don't disappoint me."

I exited my voice mail and smiled. _Don't worry, Sherlock Holmes never disappoints. _It took me awhile to get my gi and hakama on. The ties and creases of the thing seemed never ending. I looked at myself in the mirror. _Sherlock, you make a great samurai. _I eased the katana into my waist band, slipped a black kaftan over the martial art attire, then snuck out into the night.I didn't want to wake the driver. _Hmm, what should I do? If I walk, I'll be too exhausted to perform. Wait Irene mentioned that she had several electric motorcycles I could use. John vehemently opposed the idea, but the good Doctor is in bed, so off I go._

I punched in the garage's key code, grabbed a helmet off the wall, then picked out a sleek, black sport bike. After checking the mirrors, I deactivated the kill switch and twisted back on the throttle. I let the bike ide a moment or two, while I familiarized myself with the controls, lights, and foot grips. _Should I choose sport mode or ECO? The charge is full. _I smiled, flipping the button to sport mode.

The bike leapt out of the garage. I hugged my knees towards the faux gas tank, wanting to scream in exhilaration when a burst of adrenaline coursed through my veins. I weaved through the streets, leaning into each curve, allowing the bike and I to coordinate as one. _I must get one of these when we get back to London. John will protest, but I'll just have to convince him of its attributes. _

I felt a surge of disappointment when I reached my destination. I pulled off my helmet, hung it on the handle bars and headed towards the beach. A beeping on my device, showed me that I'd arrived. I followed the directions, stopping when I came to a fence. I waited a few seconds and an iron gate creaked open. _Talk about me being dramatic? John should see this._ I went in, whirling around when I heard a rustle. I scanned the perimeter. Nothing. I took off the kaftan, inhaled then began the complex moves of the kata. By the time I finished, rivulets of sweat ran down my forehead into my eyes. I stood at attention, shivering when an ocean breeze swept over my wet garments.

"There's a silk scarf to your left. Pick it up, lay down on the sand, then put it over your eyes." A voice whispered.

"Yes, master," I said. "Was my performance satisfactory?" I cringed, feeling like a child seeking approval from his older brother.

"Yes, a bit slow, but perfect none the less."

I smiled, then followed his instructions. The sand molded to my shape and I found myself relaxing.

"Hold very still," my master hissed. I felt him slip the katana from my side. He opened the top of my gi, then ran the tip of the sword along my bare skin, starting at my pelvis and ending at my throat. "Don't move."

"Bloody hell, stop that at once," a voice shouted. "Stop or I'll shoot." I felt a slight stinging across my forehead. The silk scarf fell in two halves, fluttering across the sand.

"No, no, no, no, no," the voice shouted again—John.

John reached my side. "Sherlock, Sherlock, are you okay?" He pressed the flashlight app on his device, checking the path of the sword until he stopped at my forehead. "Bloody hell, the bastard cut you."

I sat up, fingering the small incision. "It's just a scratch, John and look we each have a hankie." I handed him one piece of the silk scarf.

"Sherlock, he could have killed you. This isn't funny. I don't want you playing this game anymore. Let's go back home. Irene's brother is dead. Who cares who killed him?"

I took his hand, allowing him to pull me up. "John, where's the fun in that? By the way, I'm impressed. How did you know where I was going?"

He looked smug. "I hacked your password."

"Really?"

"Yes, and by the way I didn't find it amusing."

"What?" I asked.

"The password."

"I'll change it." I laughed.

"You'd better. Sexydocbitch69, not funny."

"Come on, how did you figure it out?"

John folded his arms across his chest. "I can deduce too, you know?"

My eyes narrowed. "Hmm. By the way how did you get here?"

"I took an autocab."

"Well, save your money. You're riding home with me."

John pointed. "On that thing?"

"Don't worry there's an extra helmet in the faux gas tank. And remember, slide in tight and move with me."

"I'm not going on that thing."

I smirked, taking my helmet off the handlebars. "Come on, Doctor, ride with me."

He took the extra helmet. "Fine, but we need to get this sorted out when we get back."

I patted the seat behind me. The bike hummed to my touch. I knew this would be one of those fond moments I would look back on, the feel of the bike beneath me, the feel of John behind me, the night air flowing around us, just the two of us against the world.


	8. Chapter 8

I watched John while he stitched up the cut on my forehead. "John quit fussing. I'm fine.

His hands dropped to his sides. "Okay, right, but don't lie to me. I know you're not fine. Sherlock, what are you on?"

I looked down, immersing myself in the design on the carpet. _What were the people doing? _I smirked. _Irene's a very naughty girl. _"John, have you taken the time to examine the carpet?"

John glanced to where I pointed. His face colored. "Yes, I've seen the carpet and yes I know what they're doing. Although I'm surprised, you noticed it. Hold on quit attempting to divert me. What are you on?"

"Just pain pills," I answered.

"And what pain pills are those?" John pursed his lips like a fish.

"The ones I got from the pharmacy, of course."

John held out his hand. "Okay, let me see."

"Um, they're here somewhere." I began to look under my pillow and other places around my room. "Well, I can't seem to locate them. When I find them, I'll be sure to let you know."

"Sherlock, you're such a manipulative liar. How can I trust you?"

I smiled. "You can't. Suffice it to say I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize my health."

John snorted. "That's a crock, and we both know it."

"John, I'd love to continue this argument, but I've got a call coming in from my master."

We both listened when I pressed the play button. "Thus far, you have pleased me. However, I am not pleased that Doctor Watson came with you. You will owe me something for that. I thought I indicated that I wanted you to come alone…Sherlock." The transmission cut off.

John's eye's widened. "Christ, Sherlock, that pyscho knows your name."

I rubbed my hands together. "My master's taken the bait, John."

"What bait?"

"I'm the bait, and I'm certain my master is Lucien's killer."

John's eye widened. "Sherlock, you can't be serious. We need to get the police involved."

I rolled my eyes. "John, in case you've forgotten Lestrade is in London. We are in California. We don't have police contacts here. Besides we're perfectly capable of handling this ourselves."

John's eyebrows rose. "Oh, so it's we now? The other day, you made it clear you didn't need me."

I sighed. "John, you should know better than to listen to me, especially when I've been goaded into losing my temper. I need you now—always."

John shook his head. "Sherlock, only you can give an insult and compliment in the same sentence. Fine, what's our next move?"

I steepled my fingers together, placing them against my lips. "Though the thought of waiting is tortuous, we must do it."

John remained silent. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, noting his rigid posture. "John, everything is going to be okay," I whispered.

He bowed his head. "Sherlock, do you know that in some ways, your loss was deeper than Mary's? She went quickly, protecting a person she loved. When I thought you'd jumped, I assumed…" John took a deep breath, then continued on. "I assumed that you felt so alone and distraught that you had to end it all. I blamed myself. Scenarios went around and around in my head on how I could have helped you, but in the end, you were dead. I can't tell you how many times I wept at your tombstone. I couldn't save you. I felt helpless, and that's how I feel now. Sherlock, I can't lose you again."

"John, I have no intention of ending it all. You need to relax, have a drink, whatever."

John stepped into my personal space, seething. "How dare you tell me how to feel, you insolent bastard."

I smiled. "John I can't tell you how much I'm impressed with your vocabulary as of late. It's really quite impressive. And as far as losing me goes, well you know with my history, I will statistically go before you do."

John shook his head. "How can you devalue yourself that way?"

"Fine, before I go, I'll poison you, and well we can't leave Rosie and Mrs. Hudson alone, so I'll have to poison them as well. Now, we'll all be dead together. Are you happy now?" He turned away from me. I reached out touching his shoulder with my fingertips. "John, as soon as we get home, I'll decrease my use of pain meds. Will that be enough?"

John looked at me. "I don't know, will it? What is enough with you?"

The device on my wrist buzzed. I glanced up. "It's from my master."

A muscle in John's jaw twitched. "Well, go on, answer it, Sherlock."

My master's voice filled the room. "Sherlock, are you ready for your punishment?"

I arched an eyebrow. "Yes, master, I am."

"I'm fond of you. My punishment is not a harsh one. Since Doctor Watson can't keep his distance, he will take part in the proceedings. Doctor Watson, I want you to take the katana, have Sherlock bend his head down, then cut two of those gorgeous locks off and stick them in an envelope. Oh, and so you don't cheat, I want a live video. I'll give you some time to get familiar with the weapon, Doctor, then snip, snip." The transmission ended.

I started to laugh. "What a nut case. Come on, John, let's practice."

John's eyes widened. "You've got to be kidding me, that thing is razor-sharp."

My lips turned down into a calculating grimace. "Sharper, actually. Come on. We mustn't keep the master waiting. John don't look so glum. This should be fun. How many times have you wanted to press a katana to my neck?"

John glared at me. "Including now?"

I chuckled. "Come on, John, play the game. This game is more fun than the killer cabbie, and you got to shoot him." I grabbed the katana from its resting place.

John took the katana. "Fine, but don't blame me if I chop off your bloody head in the process."

I grinned sideways at him. "Come on dance for me Salome, and I will give you my head."

"Haven't you got the roles reversed? I'm John, remember?"

I smiled at him. "Nonsense, you're the pretty lady—Madonna."

John returned my smile. "Whatever you say, Sherlock Holmes." After a few moments, his smile faded. He looked at me, then held out his hand. "Give me the list, Sherlock."

I returned his gaze, attempted to appear nonchalant. "What list?"

John stepped into my space. "Quit screwing around and give me the goddamn list. I won't play this ridiculous samurai game unless you give me the list."

I thrust my lower lip out. "Fine, I'll just text you."

I typed in the ingredients to the cocktail that Wiggins and I had cooked up and sent it to him. A ping sounded. I waited. John read it. He swallowed, then put his hand over his face. "Sherlock, this is unacceptable." He began to pace. "I'll play your stupid game. I'll cut a lock of your hair off for the master, and then…then I'm going home. You can stay here or go back to London with me. When we get back, you're going to get yourself into a rehab program and get clean. I'll stand by you. If you are insistent on this self-destructive behavior, Rosie and I will leave Baker Street. I've told you before that I won't have Rosie around drugs, and now that she's getting older, it will be hard to explain that her uncle Sherlock is just having a bad day, a nightmare, or perhaps just a bad batch of fish and chips. I'm not bluffing."

I swallowed. "I know."

John sighed. "I know you'll try, but we both know your addictions are like cancer. They tend to come back, and when they do, they're stronger than ever."

I watched him leave, then picked up my violin and began to play.

John practiced, Irene commanded her device to film the video, and I waited, my head bowed. John looked at me. "Are you ready?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"Sherlock, close your eyes. I can't do this with you staring at me."

I continued to hold my gaze, memorizing the intent look in his blue eyes and dilated pupils. "What if I want to keep my eyes fixed on you?"

John stepped forward. "Close them, now."

I obeyed. A second later, I felt a whoosh of air when the blade flicked close to my ear. I opened my eyes to the sight of John holding a cluster of dark curls in his hand. My device rang. "Hello?" I asked.

My master's voice rasped, filling the silence that had enveloped the room. "Very good, Sherlock. Now I just have one more request."

"What I snapped?"

"Give Irene a kiss and make it look convincing."

I got up went over to Irene and kissed her.

Laughter surrounded us. "Hmm, I guess that was the best you could do. Now let's really mix things up. Kiss, John."

My eyes widened. "What?"

"Do it," my master ordered.

I folded my arms across my chest. "What if I refuse?"

My master laughed again. "Look at John's lips."A red laser spot hovered just underneath John's nose. "Do it, or the good Doctor will be dead. Sherlock, Sherlock, just trust me and do it. I assure you it's for your own good."

I approached John. "Umm, I guess we have no choice."

John glared back at me. "I guess not."

I put my hand behind his head. "Um, I'm just going to do it now."

John tilted his face upwards. "Just get on with it."

I pressed my lips against his lips, aware of the difference in texture. My full lips enveloped his thin ones, and when they parted I slid my tongue in. I should have pulled away, but I didn't. My tongue sought his, swirling around the muscular thickness with vigor.

A clapping sound drew us apart. "Bravo, Sherlock, time to deduce eh? See you at the party, love." The connection terminated. Irene raised an eyebrow. John looked back at us, his face flushed, his lips red and wet. He left the room, leaving Irene and me alone.

She came over to me. "Sherlock, are you alright?"

"Fine," I snapped back. I fled the room, craving a pill. _Time to go to bed._

When I woke up the next morning, a message from John awaited me. Without playing it, I knew he'd gone home.


	9. Chapter 9

Mozart's Mass No. 4 played in the background. I slipped out of my street clothes. Naked I stood before the mirror, observing scars from past injuries—some self-inflicted, others not. I bent down, stepping into the pants first, then pulled up the stockings, and put on the soft 18th-century style trousers, running my hands over the silken folds in the material. Closing my eyes, I allowed myself to enjoy the feel of it against my legs. I yawned. _I mustn't fall asleep. John, where's John? I'll ring him to make some tea. _

"John?" I bellowed. No answer. "John?" A tap at the door sounded. "Come in."

Irene slinked in, her dress rustling like wind displacing a pile of dead leaves. "Sherlock, what is it?"

I sighed. "I need some tea. John didn't answer."

Irene picked up the wig cap that lay on the dresser and smoothed it over my curls. "He's gone, love. Remember?"

I looked up at her. "Of course, I remember. I just momentarily forgot."

"Here, let's get you into this costume."

She helped me put on the laced sleeved white shirt, gold brocade vest, and blue velvet jacket. We watched each other during the process. The clothing touched my skin. She touched my face. My eyes sought hers. She turned away. "Sherlock, you've got to be strong. I need you."

I brought her fingers to my lips. "Of course, the case comes first, until it doesn't."

Irene looked confused. "Sherlock, what are you talking about?"

I stood up, straightening the jacket. "It's nothing to concern yourself with." I then pushed my feet into the shoes, walking a few tentative steps in them before I took her arm. "Are you ready?"

She grinned. "I thought you'd need time to adjust to the shoes."

I looked back at her. "Why would I need time to adjust?"

"They do have a slight heel."

I smirked. "I've worn heels before."

"Yes, you have. I thought you'd forgotten."

I smoothed my hands along the front of my clothing. "How could I forget?"

Irene laughed. "That case was delicious, wasn't it? You know my favorite part was when John saw you. His eyes almost dropped out of his head. One word from you and he'd have dropped trou."

I glared at her. "Irene, John is straight, and I am what I am. I've no interest in sex. What do I have to do to make it clear, create a re-occurring post on all my social media accounts?"

Irene smiled. "Who said anything about sex, dear boy?"

I sighed. "You're an idiot. Let's go before I choke you."

"Ooo, now that sounds like a plan. I've just the thing in my bedroom."

I playfully flicked her wrist with my finger. "Come on. Now, where's John? Oh, that's right; he deserted." I snatched my mask from the top of the dresser, and we left.

Irene and I greeted our host, then I made my way to the dais where the other musicians of the quartet were warming up. I introduced myself, then the 1st violinist handed me music. "Have you had a chance to look at the parts I emailed you?" He asked.

I looked back at him. "It's just the second violin part. Even Mozart said, 'You don't need to have studied to play the second violin part.'"

He rolled his eyes. "Fine Wolfgang let's tune, or don't you need to do that either?"

I sat down, pulling my violin from its case. After playing a few scales, I matched my A to the 1st violinist's. His arrogant features softened. "Is that a Strad?" He whispered.

I nodded. "Yes, a gift from my sister."

"You must have a wonderful sister," he breathed.

"Actually, she's a psychopathic killer."

He laughed. I didn't. His gaze racked over the violin from top to bottom, then back again. I took pity on him. "Would you like to try it?" I asked.

"Yes," he answered in a hushed reverenced tone.

I listened while he played excerpts from a range of concertos. The music of Bach, Brahms, Beethoven, and Mozart flowed around me. I closed my eyes, our former antagonism dissipating with each phrase. When he stopped, I felt a sense of loss and anger. My thoughts once again betrayed me— _John, the fly in the ointment. I miss you and hate myself for driving you away. Most of all I hate that I miss you. _"I should have poisoned him when I had the chance," I muttered under my breath.

"What?" The other violinist asked, handing me my violin.

I smiled, taking the instrument from his unwilling hands. "Nothing, let's tune."

He looked down at his own instrument, sighed then picked it up.

An unfamiliar emotion overcame me. _What is this feeling? Could it be compassion? Dear God, please no. _He played an A. We all tuned, then I turned to him. "I'm sorry. It's hard to give up something so beautiful once you've held it in your arms."

He looked at me. "You mean hands, right?"

My lips quirked up into a half-smile. "Yes, of course."

Simon gave us the signal to play. With relief, I surrendered myself to the music, grateful that Mozart's second violin part presented a challenge. After we had performed a few pieces, the 1st violinist signaled for us to take a break. I glanced at the mask beside my instrument case. _There's no sense in putting that on. It's not as if people aren't going to know who I am with a violin case schlepped over my shoulder and I can't leave a Strad just sitting here unattended. _I shrugged, then went outside. The violin case bounced against my back. I breathed a sigh of relief when the cold night air hit my warm skin. Moonlight illuminated the ocean waves, causing them to appear spectral. I moved towards them, immersed in the sound of their thunderous pummeling into the silent sand.

The air grew warm behind my back, causing the hairs on my arms to rise. "Sherlock," a voice whispered, 'come with me."

I turned my head just in time to feel a needle slice its way into my neck. Though I tried to fight it, I couldn't. Darkness overtook me. My body surrendered without a fight. _It seems that not even the great Sherlock Holme's intellect can conquer the frailty of the human body. _

I struggled to open my eyes, stopping when I realized that a blindfold obscured my vision and that I appeared to be tied to a chair or something. Unknown hands undid the blindfold's knot. I looked up.

Bill stood over me with a worried frown. "Sherlock, are you okay?"He rubbed the back of my head, then took off the wig and cap.

"Yes, I think so. Can you untie me?"

"Oh no, not yet, my love."

I took a deep breath, attempting to quell the panic at the thought of being trapped. "So, you are my master?"

Bill held out his hands in a joker gesture. "Surprise. Oh, I can see from the look on your face that you are surprised."

"You killed Lucien?" I slurred.

Bill looked at me in concern. "Maybe I gave you too much. You still seem a bit off. Well, just rest while I explain. Lucien's death was an accident. I meant to scare him not kill him. I drugged him, but he regained consciousness too soon. We struggled, and he fell over the edge of the railing. Either way, my goal was accomplished."

I worked my jaw back and forth. "What goal?"

"You Sherlock, you are the one I wanted all along. I thought that if I attempted to kill her brother, Irene would call you for help. Whoops, I guess I took things a little too far."

"Why me?" I asked.

"Oh, Sherlock I'm going to offer you a choice just like I did the others."

"What others?"

"The others, great men and women like yourself who found themselves reaching the end of their potential. Some were grateful for my help, others weren't at first. You see, it was a hard day when I realized I'd never become a great musician, scientist, or anything really. I had just enough talent to know that I'm average. It's such a hateful word, isn't it? Average."

"So," I said, gesturing around me," you plan to kill me because I'm smart? Perhaps throw me over the side of the boat?"

Bill shook his head, then fixated on my face. "Sherlock, I'm offering you the gift of the future. It will be up to you as to whether you choose life or death. Do you see what I have in my hand?"

I squinted. "It's a swab of some kind."

"Right you are. When you were sleeping, I took the liberty of swabbing your cheek. Would you like to see your future?"

I turned away.

"Oh come on, Sherlock, play. You played with the cabbie on your first case with the good Doctor Watson. A Study in Pink, now that was a case. However, I've taken things up a notch. Behold the future. Look, Sherlock, you know you want to."

I looked at the 3D Holo projection in front of me. My DNA helix swirled on the screen. A voice read data off in a monotone voice. "Subject is vulnerable to uncurable forms of arthritis due to past injuries. His genetic background suggests a weak heart, poor lung function, and possible kidney failure from previous and current drug use. Third stage dementia is also a possibility. My analysis suggests that the current subject will contract one or all of these diseases at some point in his lifetime."

"Shut up," I murmured. "Please make it stop." I pulled against my restraints, leaning back against the deck chair I found myself tied to.

Bill came closer. "Now, Sherlock, don't tire yourself. I still have a bit more to present. Imagine this, Rosie goes off to university…"

I wriggled my shoulders. "You'd better not hurt her."

Bill laughed. "Relax, Sherlock. Be quiet and listen, or I will have to sedate you again. Now, where were we? Oh yes, Rosie goes off to university, has a brilliant career in medicine and a family of her own. So, what do you think John Watson will do? He'll be lonely, craving the touch of a woman, someone to share his heart and bed with. She'll have to be someone special to put up with you in the relationship. I predict John has a rough road ahead of him. It'll be difficult for him to find such a special mate."

"He found Mary," I challenged.

Bill held up a finger. "Ah yes, the brave Mary Watson, who died saving your life. Umm, pity. Sherlock, you're missing the point. John found Mary, but only with you out of the picture. You're still on top. Why not quit now? Rest. I'll make it look like another accident. Maybe I'll pin the whole thing on Simon. It would do me go to watch the rich bastard rot in jail. So, Sherlock what's it going to be? A future of slow decay, becoming a burden to those you love, or a noble death. Tick tock." He pulled a syringe out of his pocket. "Would like some more of this?"

I turned away from him. "No."

He pulled my head back, then pushed a button on his wrist phone. "Oh, you will. I just turned off your ankle's smart device. Don't worry if you ask nicely I will give you a taste of your 7% solution. I know a marvelous chemist as well. I'll leave you to think things over."

I listened to the sound of his receding footsteps. _Would it be so bad to concede?_


	10. Chapter 10

Bill wheeled me closer to the edge of the deck. I could hear the sea churning around us. "What if I don't want to give up? What then? You'll push me over the side? Another accident, perhaps?"

"No, of course not," Bill answered, while he busied himself untying me. "You're free to walk away, or in your case, crawl away."

I ignored the insult. "What about you? You don't expect that I won't tell someone, do you?"

Bill laughed. "Of course not. If you decide that you want to continue with your downward spiral, then so be it. I will inject you with a substance that will make you forget our encounter."

I shook my leg, attempting to get the blood flowing. "What about Lucien's case?"

Bill tapped the side of his jaw with one finger. "Never fear dear detective. I'll leave you a trail of bread crumbs. Perhaps, a stashed away suicide note, or a fake toxicology report, maybe a mysterious witness that saw him jump. Don't worry, I'll make sure you're adequately entertained. Perhaps I'll just pin the whole thing on Simon."

I glared at him. "You're crazy."

Bill turned his head to one side. "Perhaps, but before you make up your mind, I want you to listen to something." Bill pressed a button on his smart device, turning up the volume so that it could be heard above the waves. John's voice came through loud and clear. 'Sherlock's using again.'

Mycroft's voice echoed back. 'Are you sure?'

'Of course, I'm bloody well sure. Your brother admitted it.'

Mycroft sighed. 'Well, I'm grateful you're there to take care of him.'

John's voice ratcheted up a notch. 'That's just it. Maybe I'm sick of taking care of him. What if I want a life of my own? It's so hard, watching out after him, wondering if, if he'll do irreparable damage to himself. I feel like in the end, all I'll be is a caretaker and that my life will cease to exist.'

Bill cut the conversation off. "Well, Sherlock, how do you feel now?"

"Step away from him now," John shouted.

_John?! _I swiveled around to watch John's approach. _There's my doctor, coming in with guns drawn._

Bill finished untying me, maintaining a firm grip on my upper arms. "I wouldn't come any closer doctor," Bill shouted. "You'll never get a clear shot."

He bent down, whispering in my ear. "Sherlock, it's time to make up your mind, or should I just shoot the doctor?" John approached. Bill slammed my head against the ground. "Stop, Doctor Watson, or I'll blow his brains out. Put your gun down now. Choose, Sherlock."

John lowered his gun. "Okay, just don't shoot. Sherlock, whatever he's saying to you don't listen. Everything's going to be alright. I'll fix it, just like I always do. Come on, please, Sherlock, I've got this."

Bill gave me a knowing look. I looked at John's pale face. His eyes were bright, pupils dilated. _He's so stressed out. What will he feel when he has to take care of me? Bundling me off to doctors' appointments, while I waste away, while we both waste away. The anxiety will be unbearable for him and for Rosie. _Bill loosened his grip, allowing me to slip towards the edge. I could hear the waves lapping at the sides of the boat.

Voices around the back of the boat made Bill turn. "This is the police. Stay where you are." They shouted.

John crept forward. "Hang on, Sherlock, I'm almost there."

I looked at him. Tears filled my eyes, and I let go. John's scream was the last thing I heard before I hit the water. The impact sent me into shock. I slipped into the darkness without a fight.

I opened my eyes. Sterile white walls, fluorescent lights, tubes, and beeping sounds surrounded me_. I must be in hospital. _Irene stood by my bedside. "Dear boy, thank god, you're awake. I'll get your nurse."

"Wait," my voice cracked, "where's John?" She looked down. "Where is he?" I asked, attempting to sit up.

"Ssh, it's alright. John's fine. He's just gone out for a moment. I'll text him."

A moment later and my once empty room had filled to capacity. John stood in the corner, conversing with the doctor. Irene allowed herself to be hustled out the door. The doctor approached me. "It's good to see you awake, Mr. Holmes."

I licked my dry lips. "Sherlock, please."

"Fine, okay, Sherlock. You should make a full recovery, and after you've completed detox, you will be able to go home. I'll let your partner; Doctor Watson fill you in on the rest." He looked back at me, nodded at John, and left.

"Partner?" I asked.

John stepped forward. "They wouldn't give me any information unless I was family."

"Could I have some water?"

John came over with a cup. "Just ice chips for now."

I picked a couple out and put them under my tongue. "So, why partner instead of brother?"

John glared at me. "Because your brother is already here."

I swirled a piece of ice around in my mouth. "Mycroft's here?"

"Yes," John stated.

"Why did you call him?"

"When they brought you up out of the water, you were dead. I administered CPR, but you still stopped breathing three more times in the ambulance. I thought he should be here just in case." John's voice trailed off.

I reached towards him. He scooted his chair closer, holding my outstretched fingers in his hand. "I'm sorry about the drugs," I said.

He looked up; his eyes wide. "You think this is about you using?"

I shrugged. "What else?"

John glared at me. "I'm not getting into this now. I'll get Mycroft. You two can visit while I take another break."

"You must be really angry at me to send Mycroft up," I called out, irritated that I couldn't shout.

A few days later, I checked out. A limo came for John and me, returning us to Irene's house until I could fly. I crunched the plastic hospital bag on my lap several times before John laid a hand on my arm. "Stop that, it's annoying."

I looked over at him. "Sorry. Look, John, you might as well tell me what you're still angry about. I'm sick of you sulking."

John looked at me in wonder. "You really don't know, do you?"

I started to crinkle the bag, then stopped. "No, I don't, and where's my nice tuxedo shirt?"

John snatched the bag out of my lap and threw it to the ground. "Your tuxedo shirt had to be thrown out and do you know why?"

"I'm guessing from your tone; you're going to tell me."

"Excellent deduction, detective. I had to throw away your shirt because it had blood and vomit all over it. Where did the blood and vomit come from? I'm glad you asked. After repeatedly giving you CPR, you vomited all over me. I had to stick my fingers in your mouth, clear your air pathway, and start over until you started to breathe on your own."

I looked over at John in awe. "Well, I can see why you're angry. That was plain disgusting, and I'm sorry. How about I take you out for a nice meal or some such?" I felt pleased with myself. _I think I handled this correctly. I apologized, then offered to compensate him with a nice meal._

John shook his head. "You just don't get it, Sherlock. You want to know what you did?"

I scooted closer to him. "Desperately," I answered. His gaze held mine, and the sadness in his eyes made my chest hurt.

"You let go. You looked at me and just let go. I had you, and you knew it, but you still let go. You once told your sister to keep her hands off her own life, that it wasn't her own. But you just threw all that out the window and let go."

I leaned back in my seat, allowing his words to sift through my consciousness until they pierced my apathetic shield. My throat felt raw and swollen. His grief-stricken revelation shattered my composure. The drive back to Irene's remained silent.

After we arrived, he helped me up to my room. I smiled when I noticed my violin case sitting on the bed. John followed my gaze. "I caught it before it tumbled over the edge."

I nodded. "It's a good thing too. I don't know if it's insured. I'll have to check with Mycroft." I looked down. "John, I'm sorry, but you don't know what he revealed to me."

John put his hands on his hips. "He's a bloody nut that's wasting away in jail. Why would you listen to him?"

I pressed my tongue to the inside of my cheek. "Because genetics don't lie. It's all right here," I said while tapping my device. "I'll email it to you. Read it, then tell me I didn't make the right decision."

I watched John while he studied my DNA results. After he finished, he looked up at me. "So, this is why you let go?"

I shifted my gaze away from his. "Yes, that and the fact that I wanted you to feel free to date like you did when I disappeared before. You found Mary."

John sat next to me on the bed. "Sherlock, when the right person comes along, I'll know it. As far as the genetic tests go, that's only a possibility, and if you go down into the dark, I want to go with you. Sherlock, this is hard for me to say, but I love you."

"What's that mean?" I asked in a low voice.

John laughed. "Hell, if I know. A straight man in love with an asexual man, or whatever you are."

I leaned my head to one side. "So, I guess that makes us a couple?"

John pursed his lips. "A type of couple I suppose. Maybe I should call that pianist."

I chuckled. "Mmm, not a good idea. I saw the pianist and Irene making out by the pool when we drove up."

John's eyes widened. "How come I missed that?"

I sniffed. "You were too focused on me. We're a couple, remember?"

"Not that kind of a couple," John snapped.

"Come on, John, you know you want to bottom for me."

John jumped off the bed. "Oh no, you would be bottoming for me."

I ran my hand over my thighs. "Oh, I think not."

John threw a pillow at me. "Stop."

I grabbed another pillow and whacked him with it. He scrambled on the bed towards me. "Oh, you're going to get it now."

I laughed, scooting away from him. "Remember, I just got out of the hospital."

His expression sobered. "Fine, wimp."

A knock at the door preempted my reply. "Yes, come in," I called out.

Mycroft came in, raising an eyebrow. "What's going on here?"

I sat up. "John and I were having an argument about who's going to bottom. I think he should bottom. What do you think, brother mine?"

Mycroft sighed. "Sherlock, why speak of things that won't come to fruition?"

I puffed out my chest. "I'll have you know John, and I kissed with tongue."

John nodded. "Yep, that's right we did. Of course, we had to, or I'd have had a bullet put through my brain."

I looked over at him. "How was it? The kiss, I mean."

John's face colored. "Surprisingly good."

I looked at Mycroft in triumph. "See?"

"Well, I see you've settled in. I'll tell mother you're well enough to joke around and that we should be home soon."

I pulled John close. "Who says we're joking?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes and left.

John looked at me. "Um, Sherlock, you can release me now."

I ducked my head. "Of course, sorry."

He smiled. "It's okay."

I smiled back. "It's all okay. Did you really mean that about the kiss?"

John plopped down on the bed. "You're the detective, you tell me."

I sank down beside him, yawning. "I'm tired." I then curled up with my back towards him.

"Sherlock?"

"Yeah?"

"I know you want it."

"What?"

"Come on, ask."

I looked over my shoulder at him. "John, would you rub my back?"

"Turn around," he ordered.

I began to relax when his palm smoothed across my back in circles. "Umm, that feels good," I murmured.

"Sherlock, before you fall asleep, I want you to promise me something."

"What?" I asked, drooling into my pillow.

"Always know I'm with you no matter what."

"Okay, whatever you say. I guess we're just confused and tragic."

John moved his fingers along my neck. "No, Sherlock, we're lucky. Our relationship may be a bit strange, but it works for us."

I moved my chin down to my chest so that he could reach further into my hairline. "What if it's not enough?" I asked.

"Quit trying to be a fortune teller. It's you and me against the rest of the world and anyone who can't understand that can just go bugger off."

I smirked. "It's funny you should use the word bugger."

John gave the back of my head a light smack. "Shut it, especially when I know you're angling for a nap with me."

"I made the mistake of telling you one time that our drunken nap was the best I'd ever had and you've never let me forget it," I said, burrowing my face further into the pillow.

He curled his back against mine, squirming around until our spines aligned. "Let's take that nap. However, if you tell anyone, I'll have to kill you."

I smiled. "Of course, I would expect nothing less." My body relaxed against his. _There's nothing like a good cuddle with one's doctor. _I closed my eyes, allowing our co-mingled warmth to lull me to sleep.


End file.
